


Curious

by sassyjumper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Humor, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson argue over whose balls are bigger.  And that's pretty much it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curious

**A/N:** This bit of cray-cray was inspired by this new study on, yes, [**balls.**](http://healthland.time.com/2013/09/09/study-choose-dads-with-smaller-nads/)

 **A/N2:** If I’d been consulted, this might have been the beginning of the S8 “finale arc.” Contains references to the S2 episode _All In,_ one of my all-time faves.

 

 

“Oh my _gawd._ ”

House stared at the copy of _Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences_ in his hands, not quite believing his luck. Here he’d been thinking this would be just a typical late Friday morning: Chillax on Wilson’s couch for a while, then harass him until he stopped pretending to work and bought them both lunch.

But today, science had given House a gift.

Wilson made a “hmm” sound without looking up from his fake paperwork. “You don’t often hear that reaction from someone reading _PNAS,_ ” he said, in that indulgent way that suggested he was doing House a favor by speaking to him.

 _What a bitch,_ House thought admiringly.

“Well,” he replied, “it’s not often science takes the time to prove that you have tiny balls.”

Wilson’s pen stilled, and House went on, “I mean, most of the female staff here need no further proof. But it’s nice to see it published in a prestigious journal.”

After a beat, Wilson graced him with a phony smile. “I see. I’m flattered that _science_ would expend such effort on my balls. But I’m not quite following.”

House tilted his head and frowned in faux sympathy. “I’ll try to explain it without the big Latin words.”

Wilson looked skyward.

“It seems that guys who are nurturing types typically have wee, little balls. Presumably, that would include dudes who like to fawn over bald, malignant children.”

“I somehow think you’re skipping over a nuance or two.”

House shrugged. “It’s right here for you to read. But I’ll sum it up. They put a bunch of guys in MRI machines and had them look at pictures of their widdle babies. The guys who showed the most activity in the brain’s nurture region also— _shocker_ —had the smallest rocks.”

“Are you sure you’re reading _PNAS?_ Maybe you picked up _Maxim_ by mistake.”

“In addition,” House barreled on, “the wives of the small-balled men said their husbands were very good at taking care of baby. The researchers conclude that these men have a procreation disadvantage—small balls, lower sperm count. So they make up for it by being more attentive parents when they do have kids.”

He fluttered his eyelashes at Wilson. “That is so sweet.”

Wilson made his squinty face. “That sounds a little too simplistic.”

House shook his head in the _poor dumb bastard_ way that Wilson despised.

“Why?” he challenged. “This is nothing new, really. There’s a well-established correlation between ball size and mating systems among primates. I mean, _duh._ Chimps have super-sized cojones, and they’re total sluts. On the other hand, gorillas have embarrassingly tiny balls, and much stronger fidelity to their females.”

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, not gorilla balls again.” He looked up. “And the barnacle shames us all with its massive penis. How many times are we gonna have this conversation?”

“Until it gets old,” House informed him. “Which is unlikely.”

Wilson held up both hands like he was auditioning for _A Chorus Line._

“OK, fine. But see, your treatise on my balls crumbles right there. As you yourself have mentioned once or twice, I’m a huge slut.” He crossed his arms and smirked triumphantly.

“You are,” House affirmed. “However, I believe there’s a complex set of factors driving your promiscuity that transcends your balls. More on that later.”

“When?” Wilson asked, reaching for his iPhone. “I wanna clear my schedule.”

House ignored the rude display. “You,” he pronounced, “perfectly fit the mating-disadvantage criterion. Despite three marriages and countless hook-ups, you have failed to produce even one mini-Wilson.”

That was met with a predictable pout. House grinned. “Furthermore, you are famous for being attentive and caring. A classic nurturer.” He ended with a gagging sound.

Wilson closed his eyes. “Here we go.”

“It’s your MO—with patients, with girlfriends, with old ladies crossing the street. Nurture ’em till they don’t need you anymore, then move on. With the patients and old ladies, that’s fine. With the women—”

“Ugh.” Wilson flopped back in his chair. “Now _this_ conversation is way past its expiration date.”

“You’re only comfortable being the nurturer,” House persisted. “Now why is that? Do the small balls _cause_ the nurturing? Or are they merely a correlate?”

Wilson covered his face with both hands.

“It’s got to be just a correlation,” House reasoned. “There must be something during early brain development that leads to both small balls and an inclination toward stereotypically feminine behaviors. I hope science pursues this question next.”

Wilson let his hands fall. “I hope science pursues a cure for douchey-ness.”

“C’mon,” House cajoled. “Just admit you come up a little short.”

“No. Because I don’t.”

“Sure, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“If you were a rapper, your name would be Smallie Balls.”

Wilson exhaled loudly.

“If you were a gangster, you’d be Jimmy Pebbles.”

“House.”

“What’s wrong? Am I driving you a _little nuts?_ ”

Wilson dropped his chin to his chest and curled his hands into fists on his desk; the veins in his forearms looked poised to explode, House noted with some glee.

But then Wilson suddenly pushed his chair back and stalked toward him, hands moving to his belt as he approached. It took House a moment to realize what was going on.

_Whoa, whoa, whoa._

“Easy there.” House held his palms out and recoiled against the backrest. “I don’t need a visual.”

“You obviously do,” Wilson objected, finishing with the belt.

House could feel his heart pounding, which was stupid. Worst-case scenario, he’d be confronted with Wilson’s package, which was no major deal. He’d caught glimpses of it before—completely by accident.

Still, this would be more than a fleeting glance.

“Well, sorry,” House said, managing an appropriate level of casual disdain. “I don’t actually carry an orchidometer in my pocket.”

“You don’t need one,” Wilson said breezily. He went back to his desk and returned with a ruler. “Just measure the length, width and depth of each, and then calculate the testicular volume.”

House’s mouth fell open before he could stop it. “You—There is no way I’m calculating your volume, buddy.”

“Huh,” Wilson mused, looking weirdly thoughtful for a guy with his belt undone and a ruler hovering over his crotch. “Since when do you shy away from first-hand evidence? Are you worried I’ll challenge you to a ball-off? Afraid you won’t measure up?”

House crossed his arms and glared. “Please. I have demonstrated, repeatedly, that I have the bigger balls—in every sense of the phrase.”

“Well, except the literal sense.” Wilson put his hands on his hips, which looked ridiculous with the belt hanging open. “You’re right, House. No ruler needed.” He grinned. “I think I’ve proven who has the chimp-caliber balls.”

“You’ve proven you’re more insane,” House sneered. “Which is pretty impressive, considering I’ve actually been institutionalized.”

Wilson shook his head slightly and kept smiling like the smug bastard he was. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

House gripped the arm of the couch. He wanted to wipe the smirk off Wilson’s face. But to do that, he’d have to manhandle the bitch’s balls.

_Talk about a rock and a hard place._

“Fine,” he gritted out.

“OK,” Wilson agreed amiably, like they’d just decided on Thai instead of pizza.

His left hand went to the hook on his waistband, and House felt a wave of panic. “Wait, wait.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow, and House pointed to the door. “Someone could walk in.”

Wilson’s cheeks colored slightly. “Oh, right.” He giggled like a moron and went to lock the door. When he moved to shut the blinds as well, House realized he might really be serious about this.

_Shit._

He sensed his heart rate picking up again. He wasn’t sure what exactly was freaking him out; this was a chance to humiliate Wilson, after all. But the idea of examining him that way—of touching him—was oddly terrifying.

And the notion of Wilson touching _him_ was…

 _Bad,_ House decided. _Very bad._

“OK, wait,” he stalled again, as Wilson’s crotch resumed its ominous position in front of him.

“What?” Wilson asked, a little too innocently.

House darted his eyes around the office, as if an escape hatch might open. “This isn’t a very scientific setting,” he protested lamely.

Wilson furrowed his brow. “Yeah. Two doctors in a hospital. It’s so amateur.”

“It’s not a controlled experiment,” House insisted. “We…need to account for other variables.”

“Like what?”

“I’m older than you. Testicles atrophy with age. And I’m not sure how to adjust the data for that.”

Wilson’s stupid grin returned. “You really are afraid I’m bigger, aren’t you?”

House rolled his eyes. “That’s most definitely not the problem.”

“Then what?”

“Gee, I dunno. Fondling my best friend, maybe?”

“You’re not _fondling_ me. Do you consider it fondling when you examine a patient?”

“You’re not a patient, you idiot.” House scowled. “You seriously don’t see anything weird about this?”

Wilson shrugged. “Of course it’s weird. That’s not usually a problem for you. Usually, curiosity wins.”

Wilson looked him straight in the eyes then, with just a hint of a smile, and House suddenly felt not terrified, but…funny.

He cleared his throat. “Well. I guess I’m not that curious this time.”

Wilson’s confident façade faltered just a bit, but he regrouped in the next breath. “Fair enough,” he said evenly. He began to fasten his belt, and House tried not to analyze the strange mix of relief and disappointment washing over him.

“But you know this means that I win, don’t you?” Wilson said as he took a step back.

“How do you win?” House disputed, more out of habit than anything else.

Wilson crossed his arms. “You’re the one who's all talk, no action. I was willing to put it on the line.”

House scoffed. “Yeah. Your willingness to drop trou is truly inspiring.”

Wilson did his head-tilt thing and gazed at him a moment longer. House opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn’t sure—but Wilson turned and walked to the door. He unlocked it, then set about opening the blinds. When that was done, he silently returned to his desk and slipped back into his paperwork, as if nothing was amiss.

House simply sat there, feeling a bit dazed. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but it was definitely a step beyond their usual gamesmanship. This wasn’t your standard “catch Wilson in a net and leave him suspended from your living room ceiling” situation.

Wilson was the first one to break the silence.

“I’ll be done in about 15,” he mumbled. “Then we can go to lunch.”

House looked at him, but Wilson’s eyes were on his work. “That’s why you’re here, right?” he continued, as his pen flitted across a form of some sort. “So I can buy you lunch.”

House nodded, even though Wilson couldn’t see it. “Yeah,” he replied, then hesitated just a moment before blurting, “So, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

Wilson looked up in mild surprise. “Um. I’m…” He sighed in defeat. “Hanging out with Sarah.”

House knew ridicule was in order, and obviously expected, but he didn’t feel like it. “You wanna come over?” he asked instead.

Wilson blinked. “Well, I guess…Wait.” He eyed House warily. “Why? What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” House said, and it was mostly true. He didn’t really have a plan, per se; he just knew Wilson was right about him. He was curious.

House shrugged. “Let’s just say I don’t wanna let you win so easily.”

Wilson’s face seem to morph from confusion to understanding to suspicion in the space of three seconds. But then he finally settled on what House would describe as “interested.”

Wilson tapped his pen on the desk. “I’m probably gonna regret this, but—OK.”

“OK,” House agreed, suppressing a grin.

Wilson narrowed his eyes. “Do I need to be careful of booby traps? Or…ball traps?” he added, with a small shudder.

House flinched. “God, what do you take me for? It’ll just be a normal Saturday night. Two guys hanging out—Pun intended.”

Wilson shook his head, but he couldn’t hide a small smile. “OK, then.” He glanced at House before returning to his work.

House sat back in the couch and looked down at the journal still sitting on the cushion next to him. Who would’ve thought _PNAS_ could lead to…whatever the hell this was?

“And that,” House murmured, “is the beauty of science.”

 

 

_—End_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The remainder of this arc would've aired on cable. Also, an "orchidometer" is an instrument doctors use to measure balls. It looks like a really weird necklace.


End file.
